One Unforgivable Memory
by coverageimperfect
Summary: Dean wakes up in the Impala with Cas's trenchcoat in the middle of nowhere, but Cas is nowhere to be found and seems to be upset over something that Dean did but can't remember. (Mostly Destiel but there will be some Wincest) *TW*
1. Morning

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this piece of literature. All characters are © Supernatural._

_Trigger warning: rape, alcohol, possibly mild addiction_

_Song suggestion: Why Georgia, by John Mayer; Carry On, by fun.; The Way I Am, by Ingrid Michaelson_

A ray of sun settled on Dean's shoulder through the window of the Impala. He nuzzled his head into what he thought was his pillow, but the crinkling noise it made startled him and he opened his eyes to examine it. It was a tan crumple of some rough material. Some fiddling around with it and he realized it was Cas's classic trench coat.

Dean propped himself up on his elbow. As the blood rushed from his head down to his body, he realized what a pounding headache he had. Sleeping on the bench seat in back had not done his body justice. The car was hot and muggy, so Dean opened the door and stepped out.

The outside was only slightly better. Sun still beat down on him unforgivingly, but there was also a breeze that relieved his damp skin. The car was parked between a straight, empty road and a chain link fence that stretched on endlessly, parallel to one another. On either side of those lay the grey-brown of dying summer plains. He had no recollection of this place, so he called the one person who likely would know how he got there.

The phone went through three rings and a gruff voice answered on the other end. "Dean. I was worried about you."

"Wh-Cas? How did I get here?"

"You seemed to think it was very important for me to learn what cow-tipping was."

Dean glanced back at his terrain. Now that he looked, he did notice a mass of black specks quite far away that must have been cows. "Well…where are you?"

"I had to go. Uriel called me, we had to deal with some matters about Anna," Cas said uncertainly and cleared his throat.

"Wait, so, cow-tipping? That's it? Why do I have such a terrible headache?"

The phone line crackled and Castiel cleared his throat again. "Well, Dean. Don't you remember? We didn't even go near the cows. We, uh – you had a lot to drink. Don't you remember any of it?"

Silence.

"You kept your promise, Dean. About how I wouldn't die a virgin?"

Dean's eyes widened, and he hurriedly hung up the cell phone.


	2. City

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this piece of literature. All characters are © Supernatural._

_Trigger warning: rape, alcohol, possibly mild addiction_

_Song suggestion: Mother, by Pink Floyd; Jar of Hearts, by Christina Perri_

The phone line went dead, but Castiel didn't pull the cell phone away from his ear. He stared at the wooden bar countertop over which he was hunched, eyes glazing over and starting to tear up. So Dean didn't remember anything? Granted, that was probably for the best. But still, it was the most human, intimate, and humbling thing Cas had ever allowed himself to do; the least Dean could do was remember it.

"You want another one, buddy?" the bartender interrupted his drunken stupor, prompting his to close the phone and put on a strong face. Cas pushed his empty glass toward the bartender who filled it. "Chicks, huh? Seems like they can never know what they want." Cas grunted but otherwise remained silent, and soon enough the bartender flitted away.

Cas had another drink. And another, and another, and a few more after that. He was still new to alcohol, and by the time he realized he had had too much, it was too late. The bar became blurry and the blaring lights started to make him sweat. It gradually became impossible for his eyes to focus, and every time they got close to it, the sights pierced painfully into his skull. He ran away. Somebody called out to him, "Hey! You…pay…man…" but Cas's head was somewhere else. The sound faded and Cas continued to run. Well, he didn't know exactly what it was in his intoxication, maybe somewhere between falling and swimming. The air became thick and heavy. Cas's limbs seemed to move in slow motion but at the same time faster than he could control.

He stumbled out into the acrid heat that shocked his skin and magnified the pulsating rhythm of his vessel. A continuous blur whirled around him and occasionally gave him a rough tap encouraging him in one direction or another. Somehow he ended up foggily in an alley that smelled of urine, garbage, and days-old rainwater. He lay there half-conscious for a while before finally nodding off to sleep with tears in his eyes.


	3. Alley

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this piece of literature. All characters are © Supernatural._

_Trigger warning: rape, alcohol, possibly mild addiction_

_Song suggestion: Badman A Talk, by Cookie Monsta; She's Falling Apart, by Lisa Loeb_

_Skin. Hands on his back, face pressed against cold metal that readily absorbed his nervous heat. A mouth gaping open and eyes bugged out in fear._

_A man behind him almost fully clothed, pants clinging to his knees. Castiel completely nude and vulnerable, awaiting the harsh command of the man behind him. Hot breath that reeked of a strong alcohol and tendencies toward violence._

Castiel's eyes lolled open to slits. The searing heat had calmed to gentle warmth with a gracious alley breeze. He turned his body and lay with his head in some vague puddle, falling back into his slumber. Painful images of an unpleasant memory surrounded him once again.

_An overbearing pressure on his shoulder blades, a forearm pinning him against the dirt-covered hood of a car. Struggling and squirming, a reactionary shove from the arm on his back, and a forceful penetration. A soulless whimper that grew into a howl._

Cas's scream yanked him from his nap and he was fatigued, more so than when he went to sleep. He investigated the source of the acidic taste in his mouth to find that the contents of his stomach were splattered on the dirty concrete, and some of the sour liquid still caked his chin, neck, and cheek.

He moved his hands to strip himself of his trench coat which was probably well worn by now. His hands felt no mackintosh, though, only a tie and a mangled stiff collar. Cas loosened his tie and used it to wipe away most of the crusting vomit from his face. He disposed of the filthy tie in the overflowing dumpster to whose rank smell he had become accustomed.

Cas remembered the conversation he had had with Dean over the phone. He pulled his simplistic flip phone out of his pocket and read the display.

Missed call: Dean

Missed call: Dean

Missed call: Dean

He scrolled down and kept reading.

Missed call: Dean

Missed call: Dean

Missed call: Dean

Missed call: Dean

Missed call: Dean

Eight times in all. Maybe Dean had remembered what they had done – was it only yesterday? He called his voicemail. "Eight new messages. First message." There was the sound of Dean hanging up the phone. "Second message." Dean hung up again. Third message, fourth message, fifth, sixth. On the seventh, Dean muttered, "Dammit" before beginning to talk into the recorder. "Cas, where the hell are you? I'm getting worried." Before the message ended, Sam could be heard saying "Dean, I'm sure—"

"Eighth message."

For a few seconds, there was only the faint sound of crickets. Then Dean sniffled, and started, "Cas, I'm sorry. I don't know what I did out there, but I sure as hell wish I could take it back. Man…" A pregnant silence followed. Dean inhaled sharply and there was a shakiness in his voice when he said, "Cas, man, get back here. I'm sorry. I wish I had never…" Dean's voice trailed off and the recorder cut him off after a few more empty seconds.

"End of messages." Click.


	4. Hotel

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this piece of literature. All characters are © Supernatural._

_Trigger warning: rape, alcohol, possibly mild addiction_

_Song suggestion: Hey There Castiel, by SunnySniper (__ /sunnysniper-1/hey-there-castiel-answer-me); Lovesong, by Adele._

Dean pulled another quarter out of his pocket and put it in the thin metal slot. The bed began to shake beneath him, and he laid back and closed his eyes with a grim face.

Sam slammed on the door handle and entered the hotel room loudly. "Again? Dude, what is that, your twentieth time?"

"Eighteenth. Shut up."

"Dean, he's going to come back. Why are you so worried, anyway? It's not like Cas disappearing for a day or two is anything new."

"I just have a bad feeling about this, okay?" Dean's sandy voice took an accusatory tone and Sam flinched in response.

"Dean, you gotta stop, okay? Lilith keeps breaking more seals and all you can do is sit there on a massage bed!"

Dean clenched his jaw and the muscles in his face tightened. He sat up determinedly and put his dad's green army jacket back on. Sam watched with a crease in his brow as his brother laced up his boots, buried his cell phone in his pocket, and slammed the door on his way out of the shabby motel. Then Sam lay down to use the rest of the massage that was still going.

Biting his lip, Dean hurried down a concrete pathway that wound into an isolated patch thick with trees and brush. Once he buried himself deep enough inside the miniature forest, he clasped the amulet that hung from his neck and sunk to his knees. His face hinted at distress and reluctance for a few moments before he gave up trying to hold in tears. "CAS!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

He stood up again and kicked his steel-toed boots at a boulder. Dean paced a small pattern in the small wood, alternating between teary silence and a desperate screaming of Cas's name. After a miserable half-hour of continuous disappointment at Cas's failure to show up, Dean wiped his hands across his face. The wet stream that had spread from Dean's eyes down to his jawline smeared and quickly lost its warmth to the wind. He clenched his jaw and braced himself to leave his lonely wood and face Sam again.


	5. Brother

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this piece of literature. All characters are © Supernatural._

_Trigger warning: rape, alcohol, possibly mild addiction_

_Song suggestion:__ What a Wonderful World, by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole; Shadow Days, by John Mayer_

Lifeless eyes peeked through the shades, then backed away from the window, and the motel room's door opened. The man sleeping on the bed inside, who without all the hurt showing in his eyes looked more boy than man, stirred from his sleep. "Dean," he greeted his brother.

"Go back to sleep, Sam. God knows you need it."

Sam made no effort to get up, but didn't immediately follow his brother's orders either. Dean, who sat on the other bed with his head in his hands, didn't see that Sam's eyes were still open. He started pressing buttons on his phone and crept into the bathroom.

Sam didn't dare move once he heard the way Dean spoke into the phone. Dean's voice muffled by the closed bathroom door that stood as a barrier between them, Sam could only make out about half of what he was saying. First it was serious. "Cas, hey…I'm…regret…take it back." Then it had a pleading tone. "Just…back. Please…talk it over." The cracking in Dean's voice turned to sobs through which he continued to speak, but now louder, "I'm sorry! God dammit, Cas, I _need_ you! Whatever the hell I screwed up, obviously there's no fixing it. But it's the least you could do to let me try." Sam didn't hear anything more for a good five or ten seconds, then Dean's phone flipped shut and the door opened.

Dean was on his way to sit on his bed when his eyes met with Sam, whose eyebrows inched upward in worry. Treading dangerous waters with his brother's humor, Sam pushed, "Don't you tell me it's nothing."

"I'm fine," Dean growled.

"What are you trying to pull over? You're absolutely hysterical. I've never seen you like this, Dean!" By now Sam's voice had risen to a shout.

Dean was almost visibly fuming. "You stay out of this." He lost control of himself and pinned Sam against the wall, barking, "This does NOT concern you, you hear me? If you bring it up one more time, I swear to God, Sam."

The boys both let their heavy breathing slow. Dean removed his arm from Sam's chest, cautiously, the way a wild animal might take food rationed by a man's extended hand. Sam's mouth extended into a distressed but understanding grimace. Having maintained eye contact with his brother, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss hungrily on Dean's lips.

Dean did not kiss back. He only bugged his eyes out in pure shock, and then pressed his hands on Sam's chest, shoving his shoulders back against the wall. He turned away with hardened eyes, grabbed his traveling bag and his keys. Dean slammed out the door for the second time that day while Sam was still lost in a humiliated fog. He had already started the process of blocking out the memory from his mind because he knew that burying the event, never to bring it up, was the only way Dean would be able to talk to him without being utterly disgusted.

Dean realized he had hardly taken a breath since leaving Sam and driving off in the Impala. He exhaled and the tension left his body, but manifested itself in his mind relentlessly. It persisted and nagged until his invincible façade finally broke, forcing him to park the car on the side of the road so that he could let it out. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel, exhaled heavily again, and shut his eyes—almost winced—thinking of how he had treated his brother. Was it really no more than five minutes ago?

Maybe he was a bit harsh on Sam. To be fair, it wasn't like Sam was the only one who might've had romantic feelings between the two of them. His little brother had simply been brave enough to be the first to express the way he felt, just like Dean had always taught him, and Dean punished him for it.

_Boy, I sure know how to trash relationships, _Dean scorned himself, thinking of both Castiel and Sam. He wiped the dampness from his eyes and drove into town to find the nearest bar.


End file.
